


Moshi Moshi (Hello) by Emerald

by Emerald1



Category: NCIS
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Gen, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-19
Updated: 2011-09-21
Packaged: 2017-10-21 13:34:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/225746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emerald1/pseuds/Emerald1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stranded by a snowstorm with Tim's parents, Ziva learns how to let go of what happened in Somalia and a little about her teammate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  
 

  


  


  
 

  


  


Moshi Moshi  
(Hello)

  
Ziva felt the plastic handset creak under her tight grip as she implored McGee to find a way to fix her problem.  "My flight has been canceled, they are closing the airport soon, find me a way out of here, McGee."

 _~Maybe you should just get a hotel room there and wait out the storm.~_

"No."  Even though he couldn't see her, she shook her head.  "All the hotels rooms are already taken, all the couches here at the airport are already taken.  If I stay here I will be sleeping on the floor.  Find me someplace, McGee.  If I cannot get back to DC, then find me somewhere else to wait."  Ziva was regretting the favor that had left her stranded at a mid-west airport at the beginning of a blizzard.  She held her breath as she listened to the rapid fingers on a keyboard and the sub-vocal muttering that told her he was finding her another option.

 _~Okay, there's three flights still going out tonight... yep, they're all full with passengers on stand-by... maybe a charter flight, there's more charter flights than commercial at that airport...  Well, that's interesting...~_

"What, McGee?  What did you find?  At this point, I would take a cargo plane."

  
\---NCIS---

  
Back in DC, Tim pinched the bridge of his nose, not believing what he was about to offer.  He'd very carefully kept his parents away from NCIS, dreading the possibility of his team hearing 'little Timmy' stories.  On the other hand, Ziva was still unsure of herself since Somalia and if anyone could help her feel better, it was his dad.  For better or worse, her flight had been cut short, leaving her at one of the lesser used airports in Michigan. An airport that was sitting on the western edge of an unexpected blizzard that was shutting down air travel from there to the eastern seaboard.  A flight the other direction was her only option, as the storms had moved past her new destination.

Decision made, he IM'd his mother as he told his teammate her options.  "You might think a cargo plane is better, Ziva.  A charter flight is leaving at gate C 19 in about forty minutes.  It's a high school girl's basketball team from the town where my parents live.  They're flying to the nearest airport and then taking a school bus the rest of the way home.  It's a little town with no hotels, but you could stay with my parents until the storms are over and the airports open back up."  Offer made, he waited, listening to the silence at the other end.

  
\---NCIS---

  
Ziva chewed on her lip as she looked around the airport at the other passengers settling in for a long wait.  "That is very kind of you, McGee, but I do not wish to impose."

 _~You're not, believe me.  I just checked and Mom's got a big pot roast in the oven and the guest room is all ready for company.~_  

It was more tempting than she could ever admit.  "You are sure that my arrival would not cause a problem?"  In the background Ziva could hear the instant message chime from McGee's computer.

 _~Well, my mom's already called the coach to make sure they save you a seat with the adults and my dad is outside putting chains on the car.~_

"Then I guess it is settled."  In reality, Ziva was relieved that the decision had been made for her.  "Perhaps I will get to see your baby pictures while I am there."

 _~Yeah, well...~_

Smiling for the first time since the storms had hit, she let him off the hook.  "Do not worry, I will not bring home copies for Tony.  Now, how will I recognize your parents?"

 _~Mom's a blonde version of Sarah, and Dad... let's just say that of all the parents that will be meeting the bus at the high school, he's the last one you would suspect to be my father.~_

Curious, but convinced she could spot the senior McGee easily in a crowd, Ziva thanked him for his family's generosity and began the long trek to the waiting jet.

Charter flight 73-18 was the last flight to leave before the smaller airport outside of Lansing closed.  As promised, Ziva's seat was next to the coach.  "I appreciate you allowing me fly with you.  I hope it will not cause any problems for you with the school."

"No worries, I'm Allison, by the way."  The tall woman with curly red hair and a riot of freckles just grinned.  "Tom McGee is one of the largest boosters at the school.  If anyone complains, we'll just tell them you've another chaperone.  So, you're a friend of Tom's son?"

"Ziva David, yes, we work on the same team."

"Just work?"

"Of course, anything else would be... inappropriate."

Allison just grinned again and returned to her paperwork as it was late and most of the girls were sleeping.  Two hours later a sign on the building told Ziva that they were in Butte, Montana before they climbed out of the small jet and onto a bright yellow school bus.  Several new inches of snow covered what had already been on the ground for some time, but the driver was obviously used to driving on the messy roads.  The amount of snow on the roads increased as they traveled, and by the time they pulled into the school grounds, it was over a foot deep.  Signs congratulating the Tyler Corner's Lady Hawks decorated the parking lot and a group of moms were waiting with steaming hot chocolate while the fathers unloaded the luggage.

Hot chocolate in hand, Ziva leaned against the bus as she watched the reunions.  From the squeals of laughter to the stuffed animals and flowers that the girls were now clutching one would think they'd won something much bigger than the fifth place trophy she'd seen in Allison's carry-on.  For not the first time, Ziva wondered what it would have been like to have this kind of childhood, to have her parents cheer for doing her best, even if someone else was better, to laugh and giggle with her friends instead of learning to kill.  But most of all she wondered if her father had been at all relieved when she'd been rescued, or if he'd been disappointed that she'd failed her mission.

As the family groups became evident, Ziva looked more closely at the remaining adults.  The short, Asian man laughing with the staff as he checked off a list on his clipboard made her smile, but then she became serious about finding her hosts.  It took a moment, but she spotted an older version of Sarah, but with the pale coloring of her son, at the treat table set up next to the bike rack.  She looked up and waved at Ziva before returning to her task of refilling cups.

Satisfied that she hadn't been abandoned in the wilds of Montana, Ziva returned her attention to the rapidly cooling drink.  When she looked up, the Asian gentleman was standing in front of her.  "Umm, hello, I'm..."

"Ziva David, I know.  Welcome to Tyler Corner, I am Tomo McGee."

"You are McGee's father?"  Ziva realized that after eighteen hours she was too tired to figure out the joke someone was playing on her.  The twinkle in his eyes did remind her of McGee, even if the color and shape were all wrong.

"But of course, I believe my son told you to look for the person you would least expect?"  He held his arms out, "and here I am."

The woman she'd already identified as Mrs. McGee came over, shaking her head.  "Don't mind him, it's an old joke between them.  I'm Nancy, Tim's mother, you must be exhausted and hungry, so why don't we take you home."

Ziva didn't even realize that her bag had been taken from her until Nancy took her hand and tucked it under her arm.  "Thank you, I hope you did not go to any extra trouble for me.  I hate to be a bother."

Ziva's bag on his shoulder, Tomo opened the car doors.  "It's never a bother to visit with one of Tim's friends.  Rare, but never a bother.  Now, we've got a fine pot roast waiting for us at home, so let's get there before the roads freeze back up."

Nancy took the back seat, leaving the passenger seat for Ziva who spent the entire trip wondering just how she'd managed to miss the fact that Tim McGee's father appeared to be Japanese.

 

 

  
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

As promised, the pot roast was delicious, the smell greeting them as they climbed out of the car.  The attached garage was a life saver, and Ziva gratefully left her coat hanging on the rack next to the door into the kitchen.  Nancy just smiled and pointed out the salad greens while she added the finishing touches to the meat and vegetables and thickened the cooking liquid into a flavorful gravy.  By the time Tomo had the fireplace going, the two women brought in the plates to join him in the family room.

Tomo smiled as he took a plate from his wife.  "Nights like this, we much prefer to eat in here."  There were three floor pillows placed in front of the fireplace and he easily settled onto one of them as Nancy sat on another, leaving the third for Ziva.  Tim's parents politely asked about her trip, but for the most part let her enjoy the peace and quiet of finally being away from the chaos of the airports.

For the first time in a very long time, Ziva found herself relaxing.  Much like their son, the McGee's did not push her for more than she was ready to give.  Jazz music played softly somewhere in the background and Tomo kept her tea cup filled from the pot resting on the hearth.  Ziva still had not replaced much of her kitchenware and she couldn't remember the last time she'd had a truly home cooked meal.

Despite her best intentions, Ziva was dangerously close to nodding off when Nancy touched her arm.  "Come, let me show you where everything is, and then you can get some sleep."

"I am afraid that I am not very good company tonight."  Ziva stood with her dishes, but Tomo took them away from her.

"Nonsense, you've had a long day and it's my turn to do the dishes."

She wanted to protest, to claim that she wasn't helpless, that she was certainly capable of carrying her own dishes, but in all honesty it felt good to be pampered even if it was just for the night.  Nancy pointed out their bedroom, in case she needed anything, before taking Ziva upstairs.  Three bedrooms and a bathroom made up the second floor.  Sarah's old bedroom was easy to spot with the bright colors and the many posters on the wall, but Tim's bedroom made her smile.  Instead of pop stars on the walls, it was diagrams of circuit boards and photos of various explorers and inventions.  The shelves were filled with trophies and ribbons from various science and math competitions, while a faded quilt with crooked seams covered the bed.

Nancy smiled fondly at the bed.  "That was the first quilt I ever made, he won't let me get rid of it."

"He is very sentimental."  Ziva found herself smiling at the thought of a young McGee studying in the comfortable room.

Nancy next showed Ziva into the guest room.  "Well, luckily for you, my quilt making skills have improved over the years."  Sure enough, perfectly matched corners and even stitching adorned the blue and green quilt perfectly draped over the large bed.  A smaller quilt in coordinating colors was draped  over the arm of a comfortable chair while Ziva's bag was sitting on top of the dresser waiting for her.

"Sleep well, Ziva, we will see you in the morning."  With a smile reminiscent of her son's, Nancy left the room.

It felt good to wash away the hours of travel and to slip into the oversized t-shirt she slept in.  Still blotting her hair dry, Ziva returned to the guest room to find a few additions had been made while she showered.  A thick, luxurious bathrobe was draped over the foot of the bed, and a stuffed teddy bear was sitting on the pillow.  The final touch was the tray on the nightstand that held a cup of hot chocolate and a plate of chocolate chip cookies, still warm.  She slipped into the robe, not surprised to find it warm from the dryer, nor was she surprised to find a pair of thick socks in the pocket.

Robe tightly tied around her, warm socks on her feet, Ziva settled into the chair with the lap quilt and the stuffed bear, sipping the hot chocolate and nibbling on a cookie.  Not since holidays visiting Bube had she felt so cozy and pampered.  The annual trips to her grandmother's apartment had been stopped by her father, deemed too frivolous, when she was twelve.  Even the letters had trailed off as the elderly woman's advancing years and Ziva's training schedule pulled them apart.  The one physical reminder of her grandmother, a tattered doll, had vanished while Ziva was on her first mission.  Remembering the loss, she tucked the bear tightly under her chin.

  
\---NCIS---

  
Ziva vaguely remembered moving from the cozy chair to the bed, and she'd slept better than she had since the day Gibbs had left her in Tel Aviv, but now she was wide awake.  The house was silent, so she quietly made her way to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

Dressed, but still wearing the thick socks, Ziva went downstairs to set her dishes in the sink.  The fresh pot of tea told that someone was up, and after helping herself to a cup, she wandered around the first floor.  The wall of pictures in the living room drew her attention but she started in the hallway with the school pictures of the two siblings.  She found herself staring at an assortment of images of a younger McGee.  The hair, the face and the body all changed as she followed the row of pictures, but the eyes never did.  It struck Ziva as odd that the earliest picture of her teammate showed him at about the age of ten, while Sarah's went all the way back to pre-school.

Curious, she quickly reasoned that perhaps Tomo McGee's Navy career had sent them overseas where class picture day was not an annual event.  Temporarily satisfied with her explanation, Ziva returned to the photos in the living room.  The center image was their wedding picture, Tomo looking very proud in his Navy whites.  She looked closer at the boy standing next to him to discover that she was looking at a very young Timothy McGee happily attending his parent's wedding.

"You may have noticed that Tomo is not Timmy's biological father."  Smiling, Nancy came up behind Ziva, reaching out to touch the picture.  "He was so proud to be his father's best man that day."

"So your husband is actually McGee's stepfather?"

Nancy shook her head, knowing that her son would have never told the story.  "No, Tom adopted him, signed the final papers as part of our wedding.  When we left the alter, Tomo had become both a husband and a father."

Ziva returned her attention to the photos, unsure of how to answer that.  "I do not know the customs at an American wedding, what is this hat all the men are wearing?  It reminds me of a bicycle helmet."

"That's because it is a bicycle helmet."  When Ziva turned around in shock, Nancy continued.  "Timmy had suffered a severe head injury and by the time of the wedding had only been walking a few months, so the helmet was necessary to protect his skull in case he fell.  Timmy hated having to wear it so Tomo went to his commander and was given permission to also wear a helmet as a sign of support.  Once the men on base knew why, well, let's say that by the day of the wedding you couldn't buy a bicycle helmet within a hundred miles of the base.  I'll never forget the look on Timmy's face when he saw all those officers wearing those helmets instead of their formal headgear."

"That's a beautiful story."  Ziva found herself tearing up, much to her surprise.  "McGee has never mentioned being injured as a child, only his car accident when he was sixteen.  If you don't mind my asking, was it an earlier car accident?"

"No.  Tim's birth father..."  Even after all these years, Nancy still struggled to find the words.  "Let's just say that he was not a nice man."

Ziva closed her eyes for a second as the understanding washed over her.  "I am so sorry, I had no idea.  How do you..."  She would have faltered if it hadn't been for the understanding and compassion she saw on the other woman's face.  "How do you learn to go on?"

"At first, I felt very lost and alone, but with help it can get better."  Nancy reached out and took Ziva's hand.  "As it can for you."

Now Ziva's eyes were wide open.  "McGee told you?"

Nancy kept her voice low, as if trying to calm a wild horse.  "Just that you were gone, then you were dead and then you came back.  One of my husband's former unit told us about the rescue and the rest – the rest I can see in your eyes.  It's what I used to see in the mirror, the fear, the self-doubt, the wondering if what happened to me would damage everything good in the future."

"He left me there.  My own father left me to die.  If I am not worthy of his love, then what am I..."  Pressing her hand to her mouth, Ziva forced the rest of the words back, the question she could never verbalize.

"We each find our own way, Ziva.  For me it was first my quilting and then Tomo taught me the arts of tea and calligraphy."

"I do not understand."

Nancy smiled as she touched the picture of her wedding one last time.  "Tomo will teach you, but first, let us have breakfast."  When Ziva started to protest that the tea was plenty, she shook her head.  "Every morning is a new chance at life.  We need to greet it properly with the respect it deserves."


	3. Chapter 3

  
Ziva perched on one of the kitchen stools enjoying her tea and one of the dense, sweet pastries Nancy  identified as an Okinawan doughnut as she watched the other woman deftly prepare an omelet.  "I've never seen one rolled before, only folded."

Nancy cut the large omelet in half and slid each half onto a plate.  "When Tomo and I married, I learned about his traditional foods, but never developed a taste for hanpen, so our omelet compromise was Western ingredients and Japanese cooking method."

"Hanpen?"

"It's a fish cake that is pureed and used as an omelet filling along with soy sauce.  I don't mind the taste so much, but the texture after it's pureed..."  Nancy shuddered as she joined Ziva at the breakfast bar.  "Of course, Tomo tells me that his mother is not that good of a cook, so maybe it was just her version."

Ziva had to laugh and agree that the spinach and feta probably was much better than a hanpen omelet, no matter how good the cook.  "Is Tomo not joining us?"

"Heavens, he ate hours ago, that's the sailor still in him.  The man believes that 04.00 is sleeping in, and that early in the morning he can fix his own porridge."

A masculine voice carried in from the mudroom as the man in question came in, stomping the snow off his feet.  "And if I fix my own porridge, I can have it the way I want it.  About time you two lazy birds got up, the day's half over."

As he came in, Nancy popped a pastry into his mouth before tapping his nose.  "Just because it's mid-day in the far East, doesn't mean that it is here.  Some of us like to wait for the sun.  How was your conference call?"

"Good, the parts I need are on their way from Sweden.  Now that work's finished, I'm going to go play in the garden."  He gave his wife a knowing look and grabbed a handful of pastries on his way back out.

Ziva smiled at the banter before looking out at the snow covered landscape.  "The garden?"

Nancy pointed out a cleared walkway, just as Tomo disappeared around the corner.   "The hothouse is at the end of the path.  When you are ready, he will be expecting you."

  
\---NCIS---

  
She would never admit to stalling, but it took Ziva almost an hour before she was ready to venture out to Tomo's indoor garden.  Finally she was ready and Nancy shooed her out the door.  The path was smooth, with a dark surface and as she watched, Ziva saw a snowflake land on the surface and quickly melt away.  Curious, she knelt down and laid a hand on the warm material.  It reminded her of glass and she realized that the roofs of the house and most of the outbuilding appeared to be made of the same surface.  Filing that away for later, Ziva continued on her way.

The glass walls of the hothouse glowed with the weak morning sun, making it impossible to see inside.  Ziva opened the door to find herself in a small entryway.  Realizing the purpose, she closed the door behind her and left her coat on the rack next to Tomo's before opening the inner door.  Warm, moist air, heavy with the scent of fresh dirt and flowers, greeted her and she took a deep breath.

"Welcome, Ziva."  Kneeling at a low table filled with bonsai, Tomo gave a shallow bow and smiled. 

Instinctively she bowed back even as she glanced around.  "Thank you, may I watch?"

"Of course."

There was a mat in front of the table and Ziva settled in to watch Tomo as he worked.  His heavy coat had been replaced with what looked like a short kimono, making him look right at home among the assorted bonsai and orchid plants.  Humming to himself, Tomo studied the tiny, twisted tree before making each snip.  It wasn't until Ziva started biting her lip that he put the clippers down.  "You are troubled."

She gave a nervous laugh.  "Is it that obvious?"

"I am, perhaps, more aware of the signs."

Ziva clenched her fists, fighting to keep her voice calm.  "My team saved me, I am alive, that should be enough, but..."

"But your fears still eats at you, and you are angry."

"Nancy said you helped her, that you could help me.  How do I get past the what happened?  How do I put it all behind me?"  Finally, the questions were out, the worries she could never trust to the agency therapist, no matter how many times they promised confidentiality.  She'd spent too many years in Mossad to know what a thin layer of protection was found in that promise.

Tomo set the tiny tree aside and replaced it with a shallow tray of sand, scooting it closer to her.  "Have you ever studied the teachings of Buddha?" 

"In the Mossad we learned enough of many religions to know their weaknesses."

He smiled and started drawing shapes in the sand with a small bamboo rake, gently waving lines across the width of the tray.  "I will take that as a no, then.  In the river of life, anger is like a rock, disturbing the flow, blocking our way."  He scooped up a handful of sand and poured it into a pile in the middle of the sand river he'd created.  Next, Tomo picked the miniature rake up again, but this time with the handle pointing down, and began drawing a beautiful, swirling Japanese character in the undisturbed part of the sand.

It was mesmerizing to watch him manipulate the white sand and Ziva nodded without looking away.  "How does one get rid of the rock?"

"You tell me."  From under the bench, Tomo picked up a large piece of jade before laying it in Ziva's hand. Watching her face, he wrapped her fingers around it.  "If you are in the river and the rock you carry is pulling you down, what do you do?"

"You let go."  It was the logical answer, yet she could feel her fingers tighten around the symbol.

Tomo gently rubbed her knuckles.  "Yet when we carry that anger as a shield, we fear letting go."  He listened as she took an uneven breath.  "Anger may carry us through the heat of battle, but in the long run it does not sustain us, it eats away at all the good there is in our lives."

"It sounds so easy."  Ziva looked down at the green stone clutched in her hand.

"The hardest things usually do.  You say that your team saved you, that is not quite correct."  He didn't give her time to object.  "They physically removed you from that place, but only you can save yourself from what you brought back, what you still hold onto.  Buddha teaches that no one saves us but ourselves. No one can and no one may. We ourselves must walk the path.  At the end of the day, it is we, ourselves, that decide.  Do we let go and swim on, or do we let the stone pull us down?"

"I want to let go."

"Then let go."  Tomo continued to rub her hand and placed his other hand under hers, ready to catch the rock.  "Take a deep breath, Ziva.  When you breathe in, experience breathing in.  When you breathe out, be fully conscious that you are breathing out.  Another breath, slowly in and out.  Center yourself, let the pain and the anger float away as you breathe out."  He watched as her fingers loosened with each breath, until the jade stone dropped into his hand.

He gave her a proud smile, her expression telling him that it was something rare.  "The Majjhima Nikaya, which is a collection of Buddhist writings, tells us that if you cherish and practice this, it will bear great fruit.  Whatever you are doing and wherever you are, you will find steadiness, calm, and concentration if you become conscious of your breathing."

Tomo reached back under the bench and pulled out a long, thin piece of wood.  It was dark, like ebony, and polished smooth.  A hook on each end fit on the top of the tray and kept it even as he pulled it across, leaving a perfectly flat surface in its wake.  "We each must find our own path but," Tomo used his finger to make a design in the sand before wiping it smooth again.  "With each breath, we get a fresh start." 

With another bow he handed Ziva the rake and the smoother.  She hesitated for a moment, but after an encouraging nod, she began marking in the sand, smoothing it and starting again as she filled the tray.  The lines were jagged and rough at first until she found a rhythm.  Her face became peaceful as she continued, becoming lost in the motions.  Tomo smiled and picked up his clippers, humming once again.

 

Quotes (in full):

Find a place where you are alone and train yourself  
in this way:

When you breathe in, experience breathing in.  
When you breathe out, be fully conscious that you are breathing out.  
If you cherish and practice this, it will bear great fruit.  
Whatever you are doing and wherever you are, you will find steadiness, calm, and concentration if you  
become conscious of your breathing.

From "Majjhima Nikaya" of the Buddha

  
No one saves us but ourselves. No one can and no one may. We ourselves must walk the path.  
   
Buddha


	4. Chapter 4

  
"Come, it is time to start dinner."

Ziva blinked as she looked around, the sky had darkened, casting long shadows in the hothouse.  "Dinner, already?  I am so sorry, I did not mean to keep you here all day."

"Nonsense, a day puttering in the garden is one of my greatest pleasures.  Now, did your meditations help you to start releasing your anger?"  Tomo held his hand out and helped her to stand.  The stiffness in her legs told her just how long she had been lost in the patterns in the sand, but she did feel lighter and calmer.

"Yes, yes it did.  I had not realized how much my anger at my father was affecting me."

Tomo nodded encouragingly.  "Buddha tells us that holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else.  You are the one who gets burned."

"That makes sense.  My father tells people that I am the sharp end of the spear, a tool to be used.  Now I want to be more than that, but I am afraid he will never see me as more than his tool."

"And you want him to see you as more than that.  An admirable goal, but unfortunately people will agree with you only if they already agree with you. You do not change people's minds.  No matter how much you wish otherwise."

"More Buddha?"

An impish grin brightened the late afternoon.  "Nope, Frank Zappa."  When Ziva burst out laughing, Tomo wrapped his arm around her shoulder.  "Come, Nancy will be home from work soon."

Back in the entryway, Tomo held her coat out for her before opening the outer door.  Laughing at how much he reminded her of his son at that moment, she tucked her hand into his elbow and let him escort back to the house.  "And now I know why McGee is such a gentleman."

Tomo just smiled and patted her hand.  "It is important to cherish what is important in our lives.  Tell me, Ziva, have you ever tasted soba noodles made from scratch?

"No, I do not believe I ever have."  Once they were outside, Ziva remembered her earlier questions.  "I also have never seen a walkway made out of this material, what is it?"

"Ground-installed solar panels, this was our first serious prototype.  With any luck, eventually many of the roads will be made of them."

"Solar panels as roads?  How much power would they produce?"

Tomo smiled broadly as the conversation turned to the heart of his work since retiring from the Navy.  "One mile of roadway could power up to five hundred homes.  Not only that, but they would eliminate the need for snow and ice removal.  The possibilities are endless, watch."

They had arrived back at the house and Tomo keyed in a code in a wall panel next to the back door.  A pattern of lights flashed across the surface of the walkway.  "LED lights?"

"Embedded into each panel, yes.  Imagine a way to instantly notify drivers of an accident or hazard ahead."

Ziva was fascinated.  "Cars could be designed to pick up signals from the road."

"Using induction charging, electric cars could recharge as they drive on the roadway."

"The road system would actually become the power grid."

Tomo knew her training and experience would look first at the tactical advantage.  "If one section of the road is damaged, the system just reroutes.  There would be no one critical junction that would be a target for terrorists.  In fact, each town would be powered by their own roads."

"How long have you been working on this?"  They had shed their coats in the mudroom and Ziva followed Tomo into the house.  He went straight into the kitchen and started pulling food out of the refrigerator and cabinets.

"My field in the Navy was power management so when I retired I planned on experimenting with solar alternatives for aboard ship.  Tim suggested that I cast my research on a larger scale with both a military and civilian end user in mind.  With that in mind, a possible surface for an aircraft carrier is also now a potential highway.  I have been very blessed because my son has invested most of his book money into my research and helped me with the grants to build our prototypes."

Ziva sat on what she was now considering her stool at the kitchen counter, watching at Tomo began mixing the buckwheat flour with a smaller amount of wheat flour in the largest bowl Ziva had ever seen.  Once both flours had gone through the sieve, he ran his fingers through the mix, explaining as he did.  "You want to break the surface so that it welcomes the water.  We do not want the water to pool before it is mixed in."  Little by little, he added in the warm water, the buckwheat flour quickly absorbing it as he worked the flour and water into a stiff dough.  With hand movements that were efficient and very different than traditional Italian pasta methods he continued to work the dough until it was a silky smooth round ball.

"I have never seen anything like that.  Are soba noodles made entirely by hand?  How did you learn?"

The reason for the extra wide peninsula in the kitchen became apparent as Tomo lightly dusted it with a finely ground buckwheat flour and began to roll the dough ball.  "Good soba is always made by hand.  My grandfather was a soba master, he moved his family from Okinawa to mainland Japan to teach at the Soba Academy when my mother was a teenager.  After she married an American diplomat and they split their time between Tokyo and Washington DC, she made sure all of us children spent time learning the traditional ways, soba included."

"Is this the grandmother that McGee talks about on occasion?"

"No, that would be Nancy's mother, Ester.  She lives nearby, but spends the winters in Arizona."  Tomo looked pensive for a moment before resuming his rolling out of the dough.  Plastic discs of set heights determined how thick the dough could be.  As Ziva watched, the future noodles became thinner as he worked with a long, thin rolling pin.  After each pass with the rolling pin, he would turn the dough exactly thirty degrees.  Once the dough had made two full revolutions, he began using increasingly thinner gauges along with longer rolling pins and a very precise technique to continue to flatten and stretch the soba dough into a rectangle.  Eventually it was too large to lay on the work surface and he kept half at a time wrapped around one of the rolling pins while he worked on the rest.  

Ziva had a suspicion that his expression was connected to the apparent lack of his family in the wedding pictures, but she decided not to pry.  "Has McGee learned to make soba?"

"Of course, starting as soon as he was strong enough to roll the dough.  In case you haven't noticed, he's quite methodical in his work, he could become a Soba Master easily if he wished."

She had laughed more since arriving at the McGee home than she had since her rescue.  "Yes, he is very precise and methodical."

Tomo shared her laugh before turning serious.  "Unfortunately, since he lives alone, he has few opportunities to make traditional soba.  He's learned some shortcuts, Tim tells me it's not as good as the traditional methods, but much better than store bought."

"Perhaps he will teach me when I return to Washington."  Ziva continued to watch as he coated the thin sheet of dough with more of the fine buckwheat flour and began to fold it.  "I had no idea that the McGee family background was so diverse."

Tomo stopped folding for a moment to look at her.  "If he had told you, would you have believed him?"

The truth of that question hit close to home and she ducked her head.  "Probably not.  I am sorry."

"Don't be sorry, it's..."

"A sign of weakness, I know."

"No, not a sign of weakness, it is a sign of discovery and honesty.  His admission would have caused questions that he is not comfortable with."

"About his birth father and being adopted?" 

"The relationship between child and parent is complex even under the best of circumstances.  Timothy and I may joke about it, but the obvious physical difference between us was a difficulty at times."

"I know he was bullied when he was younger.  It would have been easy for him to become angry and bitter, I am glad he had your wisdom to help him."

A slight tilt of his head acknowledged her words as he continued to fold the soba dough.  "I have received much more in return."


	5. Chapter 5

Unwrapping her heavy scarf, Nancy smiled as she came into the kitchen.  "Good, you've already started."

Tomo looked up at the clock.  "How soon before they arrive?"

"I'm probably thirty minutes ahead of the bus."  Nancy filled a large pot with water and put it on the stove to heat before starting to wash the vegetables he'd pulled out earlier.  "Since some of them are coming straight from practice, they'll be starving."

When Ziva looked at them blankly, Nancy took pity on her.  "Tomo mentors a group of students from the high school."

"So you feed them first?"

"It is hard to fill the head if the stomach is empty."  Tomo had finished folding the dough and laid a metal edged wooden board over it, the printed pattern almost worn off.  From a drawer he retrieved the largest, most unusual knife Ziva had ever seen.  When he held the handle of the squared-off, U shaped knife, the long blade continued past his hand in both directions.  With the knife firmly grasped in his right hand, Tomo held the board down with his left.  The tips of his thumb, index and little finger, along with his remaining knuckles, fit exactly on the worn spots of the board and almost faster than she could see, he began rocking the knife back and forth against the metal edge of the board.  The result was an increasing pile of perfectly sliced, very thin noodles.  It was so effortless that she almost didn't see the board sliding down the folded dough.

Watching the couple in the kitchen made Ziva smile.  Nancy had finished washing most of the vegetables and was now wiping down the mushrooms with a damp cloth.  Tomo set aside the board and used the knife to lift large handfuls of the noodles.  Each handful was twisted gently and shaken to remove the buckwheat flour that had prevented the layers of dough from sticking together.  Once he was satisfied, each twisted grouping was set aside on a bamboo tray.  He finished with the noodles just as she wiped down the last mushroom and they switched places. 

With a more traditionally shaped knife, he quickly chopped the vegetables into precisely sized pieces while Nancy began to cook the noodles.  As soon as the water came back up to a boil, Nancy added a cup of cold water, cooling it and forcing the water to heat up again.  She looked up at Ziva's puzzled face as she refilled the measuring cup with cold water.  "Buckwheat noodles are very tender.  This allows them to cook without breaking apart.  One of the few cooking tips I ever got from my mother-in-law."

Tomo snorted at the mention of his mother's cooking skills, but didn't comment as he finished up the vegetables and turned his attention to starting a pot of broth.  He and Nancy shared the stove while the noodles finished cooking, then he took the large and heavy pot to the stove and drained the noodles for her.  While Tomo returned to the stove and began adding the vegetables and seasonings to the broth, Nancy began to rinse the noodles.  Unlike the Italian pasta that Ziva was used to, the Japanese buckwheat noodles required extensive rinsing to remove the excess starch.

Just as a school bus pulled into the driveway, Nancy started filling bowls with the well rinsed noodles.  The house quickly filled with noise as a group of teenager dropped their coats and bags in the mudroom before traipsing into the kitchen.  Each teen bowed to Nancy before receiving a bowl, then bowed again when they moved to the stove and Tomo added the soup to their bowls.  Quicker than Ziva could have imagined, seven boys and three girls were sitting cross-legged in the family room talking quietly with Tomo.  It was an odd mix ranging from the obvious jocks to the obvious geeks, but they seemed comfortable with each other.

Nancy filled the last two bowls and Ziva followed her into the living room.  "Tomo started doing this when Tim was in his last year of high school.  At first it was a science club, then some athletes that were in danger of flunking joined for the extra help and the group started designing and building robots.  By the end of the school year, the administrators were noticing a decrease in the amount of bullying, so he kept it going."

Tomo's steady voice could be heard from the family room and Ziva understood how he could guide a diverse group to a middle ground.  "Tim has talked some about being bullied when he was younger."

"Yes, it was very bad at our last posting, before Tomo retired and we moved here.  It seems every school has one or two students that derive great pleasure from hurting others.  The problem gets worse when other students that wouldn't be so hurtful on their own get swept up in the hatred."

Following a  charismatic leader was how many hostile groups started, as was well known in law enforcement.  "Bully or be bullied."

"Exactly, and the more followers a bully has, the more power he has.  If we can prevent just one or two kids from following along, the easier it is for others to stand up for themselves." 

"By building robots?"

"They learn to work as a team.  Everyone's input is valued, from the students that write the programming to the students that put together the presentation.  In the annual competitions, every aspect must come together for the team to succeed.  For many, the team is the first time a jock and a geek have ever spent time talking, really talking together."  Nancy seemed lost in thought for a moment before suddenly changing the subject.  "Is my son happy, Ziva?"

The question caught Ziva off-guard, but she recovered quickly.  "Happy?  I believe so, at least he does not give any indication of being unhappy.  He is a very private person, much more private than I realized."

Because he does not talk about his childhood?"

Ziva thought about some of McGee's habits.  "Yes, sometimes we will see that there is something there, but then he moves on without talking about it."

"I worry sometimes that he will need..."   Nancy chewed on her lip for a moment.  "Tim once told me he sometimes wished someone on the team knew about his past, but that he..."

"He could not find the words to tell us, is that correct?  He is very close to you both, that much is obvious and I am afraid we have never looked deeper than that."

Nancy smiled as she took a large scrapbook off the shelf.  "Knowing my son, he made sure you never had a reason to.  This should tell you the truth about my son, Ziva.  He deserves to have someone know just how far he's come."  Once she'd placed the large book on Ziva's lap, Nancy disappeared into the kitchen to start dessert.

  
\---NCIS---

  
Ziva's fingers trailed over the tooled leather of the scrapbook cover.  A photograph of a young Tim struggling to walk was centered on the cover, framed on two sides by lettering, both Japanese and English.  A row of Japanese kanji covered one side from top to bottom, while the words 'a new beginning' went across the bottom.  Hesitantly, she opened the book.  A series of newspaper articles covered the first two pages and she began to read.

  
\---NCIS---

  
In the kitchen, Nancy's hands shook as she filled a tray with cookies, hoping she'd done the right thing.    Her heart had broken when, after a rough case, her son admitted how much he wished someone on his team knew the details of his childhood.  How much he wished for the support he'd seen the others receive.  How impossible he found it to find a way to talk about what had happened all those years ago.  Eventually, she couldn't delay any longer and after handing Tomo the platter, she returned to the living room and Ziva.

The movement caught Ziva's eye and she reverently closed the book.  "Sometimes great heights still bother him."

"I know."  Nancy thought about her son.  "No matter how much Tomo and I try, his self-esteem is still fragile at times.

Ziva nodded as she opened the scrapbook again, quickly finding the photo that had caught her eye.  "This is the beginnings of the quilt that is still on his bed, is it not?"

Nancy didn't have to look to know which picture Ziva was touching.  She remembered quite clearly one of the nurses taking the picture of her sitting at Tim's bedside as she struggled to hand stitch those first few pieces together, the rhythm of needle through fabric allowing a focus and a calm she rarely felt in those first few, terrifying weeks.  "At first I was convinced that I was making it for his coffin.  Then, in my head, it became one of those lap blankets you see draped over people in wheelchairs.  As he recovered, I had to keep making it bigger.  Every row was a victory, each stitch marked a step in his recovery."

Turning to the last page of the book, Ziva smiled at the image.  The quilt was the size it is now, but in this picture it was spread out on the ground with Tomo and Tim, sitting in the middle, putting together a telescope.  One crutch was tossed to the side, barely visible.  "He knew I would find out about his childhood while I was here.  Even if you and Tomo never said a word, the pictures on the walls would have told me enough."  Sensing that Ziva was not done, Nancy waited.  "I cannot return to the field until the agency psychologists has cleared me, but I had not been able to let go of my fear enough to trust them."

"The first step is the hardest, and the most important.  I hope your time with us has helped you with that.  Simple things, like running a needle through fabric or fingers through sand, can have a calming effect when you let it.  When the mind calms, the path through our troubles becomes clearer."

"Thank you, for everything, thank you. 


	6. Chapter 6

  
The eleven o'clock news announced the re-opening of the airports along the eastern half of the United States, so that night Ziva quietly packed her bag.

"You are welcome to come back anytime."

She looked up as Tomo leaned against the bedroom door, two cups in his hand.  He held one cup out and she took it, smiling.  "I may just take you up on that.  These last few days have been – enlightening."

"I hope we have helped you find some peace."

"You have, more than you could ever know.  Thank you."  Ziva sat on the edge of the bed, sipping her tea.  "I have called and made an appointment to resume my sessions with the agency psychologist.  I am ready to face it."

"I am glad."  Tomo gave a slight bow.  "As much as I wanted to help Nancy and Tim, there was a time where the therapist helped more.  Please, consider our home your sanctuary.  Come back whenever you feel the need."

Ziva bowed her head slightly.  "Thank you, I will."  Once she was alone, Ziva wandered through the upper floor, finding herself in Tim's old bedroom.  Setting her cup on the nightstand, she ran her hands over the well worn fabric.  The first few squares sewn as Nancy sat in intensive care were easy to spot, slightly crooked, with uneven stitching, all done by hand.  Ziva could imagine the young, frightened mother struggling to understand the doctor's words, using the repetitive action of running the needle up and down through the fabric to stay calm. 

The next set of squares showed that Nancy had mastered square corners and the stitches were smaller and more even.  Remembering what she had read and seen, Ziva was able to trace the family's journey as the colorful blocks spiraled outward.  Tim's release from the hospital was marked by the transition to machine stitched seams.  The squares that included exotic fabrics recorded the family's times stationed overseas.  Family vacations showed up with the occasional return of hand stitching of quilt blocks that were assembled in the car or around the campfire. Smiling, she spotted the arrival of the new sewing machine Tim had bought for his mother's birthday, earned with many months of a part time job.  The fancier machine had successfully added the final row of squares that transformed the humble beginnings to a full sized quilt.

  
\---NCIS---

  
"Good morning, all packed and ready?"

Ziva turned at the sound of Nancy's voice, setting the teddy bear back on the pillow.  "Yes, I am.  Thank you.  You and Tomo have been most kind to me and have taught me a great deal."

"I am so glad we could help."  Nancy moved closer, hugging Ziva around the waist as she picked up the bear Ziva had just set down.  Ziva smiled as the older woman put the bear up to her ear and pretended to listen to it, before telling the bear that it was absolutely right.

"What did he tell you?"  Ziva couldn't help but smile.

Nancy returned the smile.  "Theodore tells me that he's bonded with you and needs to go back to DC also."

"Oh, he does?"  Even though she was teasing back, the idea of taking the furry toy back with her touched her heart.

"Absolutely."  Nancy unzipped Ziva's bag and found a spot for the bear.  "Now, since it looks like you have room, why don't you take some cookies back for you and Tim?"

An hour later she was in the car with Tomo, her bag now bulging with every treat Nancy could find in her freezer.  It had been dark when she arrived, so now she got to see the part of the country the McGee family now called home.  "How did you decide to settle here?"

"You don't know how a Navy man chooses a retirement spot?"  His tone was serious, but there was a twinkle in his eye.

For a moment, Ziva thought hard, she'd heard a great deal while at NCIS, about both Navy and Marine Corps traditions, but this one wasn't ringing any bells.  "No, I don't think I do."

"When you get to port the last time, the Skipper hands you an oar and you start walking.  When  somebody looks at you and says 'boy, what's that stick you're carrying?' you know you're far enough inland."

Ziva burst out laughing and Tomo joined in before turning serious.  "Nancy's mother and several of her cousins live in the area.  After all those years of following me around, I wanted Nancy and the kids to be around family."

"Your wife and children are very lucky to have you."

"It is I that has been blessed, Ziva."

  
\---NCIS---

  
At the airport, Tomo insisted on parking and walking Ziva to the security gate.  Impulsively, she hugged him before getting into line.  "Thank you, I will remember what you have taught me."

"If my words have eased your journey, then I am honored.  My grandfather once told me a proverb.  When you have completed 95 percent of your journey, you are only halfway there.  Remember this, Ziva.  No matter how hard one works at healing, do not forget to live along the way."

Going through security, the TSA agent looked very closely at her badge and paperwork allowing her to carry a gun on board before he checked her carry-on bag.  "Ah, taking a present home to someone?"  He carefully felt the bear before starting to return it to her bag.

Ziva took the bear from him to carefully place it back between her rolled up clothes and the plastic bag of cookies.  "No, he's mine."

  
\---NCIS---

  
Arriving back in DC, Ziva wasn't surprised to find McGee waiting for her. Smiling, she let him take her bag without an argument.  "Your mother sent cookies."

"Really?  I was kinda hoping she would."  He opened the door to his car for her and she waited until he walked around and was behind the wheel before answering.

"Did you also hope that your parents would give me guidance?"  When he froze, she took pity on him and leaned over to kiss his cheek.  "Thank you for that."

"You don't mind?"  Tim started the car and smoothly pulled out.  "My dad told me once that sometimes in life, you end up exactly where you are supposed to be, that's how he met my mom.  When I realized that your only travel option that night would put you right there..."

"It was where I was supposed to be."  She finished for him, not speaking again until they were away from the airport and on the freeway.  "Your mother is wonderful and your father is a remarkable man."

"Yeah, they are."

The rest of the ride was quiet and Ziva thought about the one comment that Tomo had made about his own family as she debated what to tell McGee about what she knew.  My parents' treatment of Tim taught him to be very careful.

"Tim?"

It was the first time he could remember that she used his first name.  "You know?"

She recognized the small flicker of fear in his tone and rested her hand on his arm.  "Not all, but enough to see just how strong you really are, and to know that I can tell you anything."

"Always, Ziva."

"And I hope, in time, you will feel the same."

  
\---NCIS---

  
Ziva arrived at the Yard early, having just enough time to drop off her backpack before going upstairs for her appointment.  McGee and Gibbs were in MTAC, but Tony came over the second her pack hit the ground.  "So, Ziva, I see you survived being trapped with the senior McGeeks."

She murmured a yes at him, looking at the new arrival in her workstation.  A miniature tray of sand, complete with tiny rake and smoother was sitting on the shelf next to her desk.  As Tony continued with his questions, she picked up the card, smiling at the familiar handwriting.

 _Remember, each breath is a fresh start._

"Well, Ziva?"

She looked up, startled.  "What?  I didn't hear your question, Tony."

Tony rolled his eyes, but obediently repeated the question.  "What's old man McGee like?"

Smiling, Ziva saw Tim coming down the stairs in time to hear the question.  "Tony, let us just say that in all the ways that matter, McGee is the splitting image of his father."  Behind the senior agent, Tim smiled and blushed as he sat down, mouthing the words 'thank you' to her as Tony tried to decipher her cryptic answer.

Gibbs' arrival with a new case pulled the three men out of the office and Ziva trailed her fingers through the sand once before heading upstairs to start her therapy anew.


End file.
